


One Last Step (in a Never Ending Dance)

by Merfilly



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Other, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-11
Updated: 2008-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Slade transitions to the next phase of his life, Wintergreen gives him a reminder to keep</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Step (in a Never Ending Dance)

Slade's return to his proper age, and senses, had necessitated certain changes in lifestyle, yet again. Slade, being himself, could not have just retired sensibly. No matter the calender age in question, Slade was still young, vital, and possessed of a temperament that defied inaction.

Wintergreen looked at him with a mix of pride and envy. The envy was never there for long, though. He understood the curse of his old friend's existence, to always lose those he held dear. Unfortunately, with the exception of himself, those losses had been far from timely, to date. The growing gap between them only aggravated them both to think of years gone by. It was harder now for Wintergreen to put the gear on, to go with him, to be his eyes on target. And while Slade would never tell Wintergreen no, the old Brit never gave him reason to. 

He watched as Slade twisted and shifted, settling the still new set of armor and gear into place, making sure it could withstand his lightning swift motions, the full strength he could bring to bear, and still protect him from the level of punishment he tended to meet. Seeing his friend moving with all the finesse of a bull on a short rope made Wintergreen smile fondly. He had given up the right to ease those tensions that made Slade chafe at the sensible restraints of armor. Pat was gone, certainly, but the years spent letting Slade grieve had ended all sense of recreational diversions between Slade and Wintergreen.

"There, Wintergreen. I think Gregor has the hang of it now."

Slade's words reminded Wintergreen again of those losses, of the ones cut down by Slade's brother's insane need to plague Slade. An all new crowd of informants, scattered through the world, a new hacker to sort it all out and guard Slade in the growing technological ring, and a new armorer. Only he remained, the only one who had been there since before it all began. Only he could remember when it was just raw skill and blazing talent. The thought provoked Wintergreen again to recall just why he had remained, all this time, in the employ of the man he called a true friend.

"The Ukrainian lad has a knack for it," Wintergreen agreed, watching Slade shrug at the upper pieces, where the plate rubbed over the weave. "Looks impressive, and you move well in it." //Too well, for my peace of mind, my boy.//

"I'll take a few light jobs to be sure of that," Slade told him. That brought a light smile to Wintergreen's lips. He knew Slade was merely humoring him, his old adage to never depend on any equipment that had not been tested through and through.

"Here, then." The Brit took a small box from the table, opening it and removing a sturdy collar, studded, from it. He looked directly at his one-time student, his longtime friend, and his endless temptation as he approached. He saw the shift of the eye to that collar, the very brief catch of breath in remembrance of times long past. Wintergreen's hands were steady, as he fastened it around Slade's throat, eyes never straying. "One last piece, to keep your head with your shoulders." If his voice dipped a little, there were only the two of them there after all.

"Of course..."

Only the pride of an old man stood between them, and the meaning of the collar in that brief moment.


End file.
